


Love at First Photobomb

by art3misthehuntress



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Community: wrestlingkink, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, This Whole Thing Oozes Cheese, Tyler is...Tyler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8897968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art3misthehuntress/pseuds/art3misthehuntress
Summary: When things go awry just before a taping of Main Event, Dolph makes the save.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme prompt: "Okay so Dolph posted a pic where they are wearing each other's gear so now I *NEED* a fic where they just borrow each other's clothes (and any other things you want to throw in)" -Anon  
> Loved the photo, loved the idea!

Tyler Breeze studied himself meticulously in the dressing room mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair that had escaped from his top knot firmly behind an ear. Another week of wrestling on WWE’s “C” show, Main Event. It was infuriating. He deserved to be THE main event on Smackdown, not relegated to a program that people only got to if they had already watched Smackdown, Raw, and NXT that week.

He examined his face in the mirror (flawless, as it should be) and almost frowned before stopping himself because _frowning causes wrinkles_. Tyler Breeze did not get wrinkles. There was at least half an hour until the awaiting crowd would be graced with his presence, and if those uggos in Philadelphia were as dense as they were unattractive, he was sure they wouldn’t take enough pictures. True beauty should, of course, be documented. He was doing the world a service, and few enough people appreciated him as it was.

Speaking of pictures, Tyler picked up his selfie stick from the dressing room table and positioned it so the light was perfect, highlighting his cheekbones and casting a soft, warm glow upon his skin. Just before he snapped a picture, he felt someone jump into the shot behind him. Frozen for a second on the iPhone was Tyler, smirking devilishly, and tilting his head just right to show off his sharp features best. That was all well and good and _normal_. What was decidedly _not_ normal was a slightly blurry Dolph Ziggler behind him, Intercontinental Title slung over his shoulder, flashing a peace sign, and grinning wider than the cheshire cat at the camera.

“Look what you’ve done,” Tyler hissed. “You’ve ruined it!” He reached for his phone, but was beat to it by Ziggler, who examined the photo.

Tyler wondered how much trouble he’d get it in if he took a swing at the other man with his selfie stick. “Give me that,” he demanded.

“I don’t know, I kinda think having the Intercontinental Champion in your photo automatically makes it better,” Ziggler watched with a bemused expression as Tyler swiped his phone back while avoiding making any contact.

Tyler sighed in relief. No dirt or grime had gotten on the screen, thank God. He’d delete the photo later. Hopefully, part of it could be saved if he could just crop  
Dolph out. “An Intercontinental Champion who’s a complete uggo by the way, so your point is invalid,” said Tyler, glaring disapprovingly. “Even the Miz has better fashion sense and he dresses like a guy who couldn’t quite cut it on _Jersey Shore_.”

“That was a little uncalled for don’t you think?”

“Don’t. Touch. My. Stuff.” Tyler spat. Smackdown didn’t start filming for another hour, so why the hell did Ziggler feel the need to hang around backstage, preventing certain gorgeous superstars from finishing in makeup. Didn’t he have somebody else’s selfie to ruin? At least Fandango had the courtesy to look decent ninety percent of the time. Meanwhile Dolph’s hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and he smelled faintly of body odor and sweat. Now that Tyler thought about it though, there were many worse offenders on the roster. Tyler and Fandango had spent many hours together conspiratorially judging a poorly chosen tie or mismatched socks from afar, and reassuring each other that they were simply too handsome for comprehension by their uggo coworkers. While Tyler did not need anyone’s approval (he had always known he was pleasing to the eye) a bit of validation never hurt anybody. Unfortunately, the rest of the roster had assumed that Fandango and him had become an item instead of Tyler merely keeping the other man around because he was tolerable when everyone else was not, an issue that Tyler reminded himself would need to be addressed sooner rather than later. He had a terrible habit of isolating himself and well, he did sometimes get… lonely.

“Hey. Breeze.” Dolph waved his hand in front of Tyler’s face. “You’re spacing out, kid.”

“Just making sure everything’s perfect for when I go out there and win tonight.”

“You’ll dazzle ‘em I’m sure.”

Tyler grinned. “Dazzle? I’ll leave them star-struck.” Because how could they not be? He was Tyler Breeze, a God among mortals.

Perhaps a higher being decided his hubris needed to finally be brought in check, for at that moment a backstage assistant darted by, juggling a small container of powdered foundation in one hand, several tubes of lipstick in the other, and talking into a cellphone pressed to her shoulder. One startled “ooph” later, and the foundation flew out of her hand, dusting the back of Tyler’s red and black fuzzy vest in a pale pink.

Suddenly, the oxygen was sucked out of the room. The assistant brought her now free hand up to cover her mouth which was hanging slightly open in the shape of an “o.” Dolph noticed the poor thing looked petrified, and for good reason. If looks could kill, Tyler would have been the greatest serial killer to ever live. 

“I’ll go see if wardrobe has another-” the girl squeaked.

As Tyler stared icy daggers at her and opened his mouth, Dolph interjected warmly. “You go do that. Take your time,” he said, smiling.

She darted out of the room like a bat out of hell, leaving Tyler to direct his full fury at Dolph. 

“Are you insane?! This vest was custom made in France, wardrobe does not have another!” Tyler’s voice was rising slightly with each syllable, and it looked like he was straining hard not to break something, Dolph’s face probably high on the list.

This must be what being on a bomb squad feels like on a daily basis. “Tyler, she made a mistake. What if we switch tops for the night?”

“What if we switch tops for the night?” Tyler echoed, his voice hollow yet still teetering precariously on the edge of… something that Dolph did not want to be on the receiving end of, that was for sure.

“Just a few hours. We’re practically the same size, plus it’s almost Halloween, so you can just say we went as each other this year or something.”

“Okay,” Tyler nodded. “Fine.” He didn’t want to think about how that seemed like a thing only significant others would do.

Five minutes later, and Tyler was reluctantly wearing Dolph’s black hoodie while Dolph had put on his black and red striped vest. And armbands. Apparently, Ziggler was getting a real kick out of the whole thing. He stuck his own phone in Tyler’s selfie stick and held it up to take a picture, running a hand through his ponytail and pouting. “Is it my eyes, when you look at me? They are so gorgeous-”

Tyler laughed sharply and Dolph grinned in victory, showing off the dimples off his cheeks. Damn him. Taking the title belt off Dolph’s shoulder and slinging it over his own, Tyler also posed for the camera, perhaps a bit more freely than normal.

“Breeze, you’re on in five!” shouted somebody from down the hall.

Sighing, Tyler handed the belt back to Dolph and gave himself a final onceover in the mirror. “None of that stuff got on my face right? Or in my hair?”

“Nah, you look great. Perfect.” 

“I always do,” Tyler rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the flush of pleasure that warmed his cheeks. Oh no. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t good. This was _dangerous_. How dare the other man look so good in his clothes, it wasn’t fair. “Um, I’ll return this after my match. And thanks, you know…” Tyler trailed off. 

Dolph waved him out the door. “I know.”

As Tyler was hustled to where he’d be making his entrance, he checked his phone, pulling up the picture that Dolph had photobombed. It actually wasn’t half bad Not the best he had ever taken that was for sure, but still there was no longer the overwhelming desire to delete it. A “ping” alerted Tyler to an incoming text message. The photo that Tyler and Dolph had just taken filled his phone screen with a simple “coffee tomorrow?” written underneath it.

Sure, he would have to talk to Summer or Fandango about it, but they could wait a few days. Tyler quickly punched out “yes” as he waited for the sounds of awestruck fans and camera shutters going off to guide him down the entrance ramp. It was showtime after all, and Tyler knew there’d be an extra set of eyes on him tonight. If there was one thing Tyler Breeze liked and thrived on, it was attention.


End file.
